


Coming of Age

by xuanyu



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Fingering, Incest, M/M, Sylvain is 14, Vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:26:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21672187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xuanyu/pseuds/xuanyu
Summary: Sylvain was just a boy, but he knew this— first times were meant to be in the dark. It helped smother the embarrassment. In his case, the shame.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Miklan
Comments: 9
Kudos: 78





	Coming of Age

Scornful eyes peek around the corner before the room of House of Gautier’s beloved heir. It’s late— surely past the prince’s curfew and even later than staff should be in any noble’s quarters. 

Despite this, what is it that catches his eye? The scene of a young maid making a silent but swift exit of a certain brat’s room. Miklan makes his presence known, rounding the corner and causing the young girl to freeze upon sight of him. She opens her mouth to offer an excuse but the eldest of the home is already bringing a finger to his lips. Words leave him quieter than any staff has heard him speak, “I haven’t seen you and I was never here.” He cocks his head to the side, motioning for her to scram. Without question she does so.

As soon as the footsteps are out of hearing distance, Miklan turns back to his precious brother’s door. Pushing the handle, he steps inside, the light from hall allowing the elder to see the faint outline of a sleeping Sylvain in bed. The door clicks shut, letting the room plunge back into black. Miklan knows the path well enough, making his way over to the bed, a heavy hand easily settling on the youth’s shoulder. 

Against the boy’s ear resounds a hiss, “I know you’re awake.” Sylvain jolts at his brother’s words, easily caught in the act. 

Slowly the youth turns over, eyes long adjusted to the dark looking up at the looming figure of his brother. He chuckles awkwardly, “How’d you know?”

Miklan doesn’t respond, instead pushing the other to turn completely, laying him flat on his back. Sylvain already knows what’s coming. 

He hadn’t understood it when he was younger. The touches, the whispers, the looks. From girls it was so blatant and it was a dance he had already begun to learn the motions of. That maid already one of many. Yet the exact same thing from his own brother took much longer to wrap his mind around. Sylvain couldn’t recall the first instance. Currently fourteen, he felt as if it had been happening since he could remember, already used to the motions of it all.

Still, he trembles despite himself as Miklan settles next to him on the bed. Pushing himself up to sit, knees folded, he plays his role. Sylvain reaches out and slowly slips fingers under the hem of the other’s trousers and undergarments, pulling them down, other hand wrapping around the other’s length. Still flaccid. Great, extra work. Sylvain thinks bitterly, but he goes straight to it.

The hard gaze of his elder brother was never something he would get used to. Not that he would make eye contact during such an act, but the drilling stare of the other atop of him isn’t easy to miss. His hands make quick work of getting the other erect, strokes languid yet firm. 

Miklan never gives any indication of pleasure. Not one moan, gasp or groan had managed to exit his mouth as long as Sylvain can remember doing these acts. Only orders for him to do it harder, faster, how you do it to yourself— “Use your mouth.” But never that.

His head snaps up, hands stopping, distressed eyes trying to find the other’s hateful ones in the dark, “W-what?” Had he heard him correctly? 

Calloused fingers yank at Sylvain’s bright locks, “You heard me. Don’t make me repeat myself.” He’s released.

And what could he do, but nod and do as told? Sylvain shuffles off of the bed for a better position, Miklan following his movements. Sylvain dumbly finds himself lowering down to his knees, taking his brother’s erection back into his hand.

Delaying the inevitable, he pumps the other for what doesn’t feel like long enough before a grunt from above tells him to hurry up. Swallowing the hesitation lodged in his throat, Sylvain leans in and parts his lips, sticking tongue out and approaching from the shaft rather than the head. All he knows is from what he’s seen a few girls perform on him— so he moves his tongue upwards until he reaches the head, the first taste of bitter pre-cum almost causing him to retreat. 

His hands shake, but he makes one work what his mouth doesn’t, pumping slowly and without rhythm. His tongue laps at the head, all at once trying to soak in this new experience and block it out just as quick. A hand eventually falls to his head, unsurprisingly urging Sylvain to take the other in.

It’s not long past the head he already feels his gag reflex protesting, jaw tight in anxiety but forced to relax around the girth of the cock. Mindful doesn’t begin to describe how he is with his teeth, already knowing the beating that would ensue were he to purposely or even accidentally bite or nip at the other. Thankfully and uncharacteristically so, Miklan doesn’t force him to take him to the base like he expects. He’s allowed to adjust. 

Sylvain presses his tongue flat on the underside, hesitantly beginning to bob his mouth up and back down what he can take. His hand grow steadier, taking its normal and memorized pace along the other’s shaft, though not without fumbling. Both tasks at once proved harder than Sylvain thought it would be. The girls who did the same to him made it seem so easy and effortless. 

Once he falls into rhythm, the hand on his head retreats and from what he can tell in the dark, Miklan has both hands flat on the bed to his sides. He shuts his eyes in concentration, hoping to finish this quickly so he can catch some sleep.

Then those hips buck and the youth is definitely unprepared when that cock pushes farther than what he had grown accustomed to. He gags, immediately moving to retreat, but a hand is quick to tangle in his locks, keeping him steady. With the loss of breath, Sylvain’s hands fly to his brother’s lap, attempting to push himself off. 

Miklan is having none of it however, one hand tightening on the reins he held and the other grabbing at the base of his cock. “Take it all in.” And he’s pushing in more than he knows the boy can take. He’s coughing, hacking— muffled protests incomprehensible around his girth. Hands are desperate as they beat against Miklan’s thighs, scratch at his hands, and tug at his top to beg for it to cease the only way he can.

It only gets worse. Miklan pulls out. Sylvain gets two sweet breaths of air before he’s taking the other back in. And— oh, he’s going to— He’s lurching and Miklan reacts quick enough to not be caught in it. Sylvain doubles over, emptying the little contents of his stomach all over the floor. He can’t do this. He heaves, shoulders shaking, wiping his mouth clean on the back of his hand.

He can’t do this, and he thinks to beg, but that hand is already pulling him back, head pushing past his lips and the taste is almost enough to make him vomit again. Please let this be it. Sylvain sobs around his brother’s cock, the head pushing at the back of his throat. The tears build up in the corners of his eyes between the assault and the emotional turmoil, but he must compose himself. Harshly, in between the shallow thrusts, he breathes through his nose.  
Focusing on that he allows the other to fuck his mouth, ears ringing at the pressure, Miklan’s hands tight on both sides of his head now. Sylvain can only weakly hold onto his brother’s wrists, the only thing he can focus on to stabilize him. And for the second time in the night, something different comes out of Miklan’s mouth. His actions are sloppy, losing his rhythm and he groans, it’s deep and guttural, and thick in lust as he cums. Sylvain has no choice but to swallow.

Miklan pumps his load into his brother’s mouth, pulling out at the last spurt, the last of the vile act on the boy’s lips and down his chin.

Sylvain doesn’t bother to wipe his lip, head hanging upon release and his lungs taking the chance to get air, his labored breathing loud in the darkness.

A vice grip is around his arm before he has time to pause and go over what just happened, and he’s pulled to his feet and thrown on the bed.

Disoriented, robbed of sight, out of breath and actions occurring faster than he can process don’t aid Sylvain in preparing for what comes next.

Already face down, Miklan only has to hold the other down by his neck. He doesn’t expect much struggle, but for something so new he has to take precautions as he introduces the boy to it. “Don’t make this difficult, brat.” And his hand is peeling away the other’s sleepwear and boxers in one pull.

Sylvain can’t help the whimper that escapes, clothes left at mid-thigh, feeling so exposed he can thank the Goddess that it’s at least dark.

All he can do is listen to Miklan’s shuffling, as if searching for something, and the distinguishable sound of a tin container being popped open. The hand on Sylvain’s neck busies itself elsewhere. Finally catching his breath, his curiosity gets to him, “Miklan….what….what are you doing?” No answer. All he gets is the feeling of a hand on the cleft of his ass, being spread, and the cold bite of a liquid being poured on his feverish skin.

He yelps, “M-Miklan, please.” Sylvain turns his head, watching the vague outline of his brother moving to straddle his legs, effectively pinning him down. That figure reaches out to the pillows and places one in front of Sylvain’s head, leading him to look forward once again.

A hand pats his head, as if meant in affection but done a little too hard, and then the eldest pulls back. “Bite if it’s too much. Wouldn’t want to wake up mom and dad would you?” Then a finger is sinking in and Sylvain’s throat is tight, eyes blown wide. What was this? It burned.

Miklan is past the first joint, almost down to the knuckle when Sylvain finds his voice— “Stoppleaseithurts.” But the drag and pull of his brother’s finger doesn’t cease. It sinks in the furthest it can reach. Sylvain can’t consider even attempting to get the other off him, what with the strength difference— no doubt Miklan only needs one hand to hold him down, but the fear keeps him in place. And Miklan’s pulling out, and back in, then out, the rhythm steady until Sylvain’s pleas and whimpers quiet down. Then he’s out.

Sylvain exhales shakily, suddenly aware of his nails leaving deep crescents in his palms, the sweat beading on his temple, the pain from his lip being gnawed at. He thinks it’s over, but then a second hand is introduced, spreading and this time two fingers are against his hole and he keens, wishing this horrible night would come to an end already.

Teeth clamp back down on his lip, the stretch of two fingers burning him in discomfort and shame. Screwing his eyes shut, Sylvain wishes he could focus on anything but this. This insertion lacks the patience of one finger, ripping a gasp out from the boy. It’s too strange.

“Please.” He tries again, hoping for once his brother would listen to him.

The plea only causes Miklan to lean forward and push the youth against the pillow, a hint of annoyance chasing his whisper, “Shut up, bite the pillow.” And he’s back to working his fingers in the other. Those digits are tugging and dragging and none too gently stretching and Sylvain is pulling his head up, sputtering, “Miklan, please, it feels wei-ng-” Biting his own lip cuts the distinct sound of pleasure amongst those of discomfort. His face burns. At the noise. At the sensation. At his brother’s reaction— Miklan repeats the movement, that same curl of his fingers.

Sylvain takes the advice this time, biting the pillow, legs shaking at the rush of sensations going through him. It felt good. The shame competes with his lower half, bringing a rush of blood to his face. Another whimper spills and he wishes it hurt like before albeit the unpleasantness.

Miklan lets out a noise caught between a laugh and a scoff. The sound travels straight to his cock, the desire to unravel the other bubbling up. One hand settles on Sylvain’s thigh, squeezing gently while his fingers drag and brush and press against the spot that causes the boy to press further into the bed.

Sliding his fingers free, he one-handedly pours more of the lubricant over Sylvain’s hole, three fingers reintroducing the task. The stretch is starkly different and Sylvain can only fist at the sheets and endure it. The pain is there and unfortunately, the eventual pleasure. Wrapping an arm around the youth’s waist, Miklan pulls him up and onto his hands and knees, fingers momentarily ceasing. They continue their movement once the boy settles.

Sylvain feels a strange heat in the pit of his stomach, familiar and yet so strange to the one he knows. His cheeks burn and the pressure below doesn’t help. While one hand holds him up, the other comes to his mouth and keeps the noises in check. The heat was beginning to become unbearable and the action comes involuntarily when he rolls his hips back. 

It’s depraved and he can’t stop himself from letting a moan escape when Miklan grips his thigh and keeps him in place as he slams those fingers into him at a pace he can’t keep up with. Sylvain lets both hands fall flat against the bed, eyes rolling back at every plunge of those digits. Then it’s gone just as quick as it came, those fingers removing themselves and Sylvain has to refrain from falling limbless onto the bed— Miklan’s hand sliding up to his hip a silent command to stay up. The other hand quickly pulls Sylvain’s garments completely off.

Sylvain had almost forgotten his fear until a distinct feeling from fingers pressed against his ass. His body shivered at what was undoubtedly coming and despite everything telling him to remain, he twists his body around and looks up at Miklan, putting his hands on the other’s wrists, “D-don’t. I can do anything else. Please. I’ll blow you again. I won’t throw up this time. Miklan, pleasepleaseplease…” The pleas overflow, even in the darkness seeing his brother’s annoyance grow with every word. Miklan shakes the brat’s hands off, moving close that he’s almost nose to nose with the boy, “Can you give me your crest?”

Sylvain lets his gaze drop.

Miklan scoffs, turning Sylvain back around to face the sheets, “That’s what I thought. Take the hand you’re dealt like a man. “ 

Then he’s pushing in, one hand sure to leave a bruise on that hip, the other keeping himself steady and Sylvain can only whimper. It was far too much, too fast, not enough lube, too young, too wrong. Just as he thinks his body will reject Miklan, stop him somewhere, the other simply keeps pushing in further and further, inch by inch, until he’s flush against the boy’s ass.

Sylvain’s legs tremble at the pressure inside of him. He doesn’t know if he wants Miklan to simply stay still or get out. It’s too many sensations to process and then Miklan’s pulling out halfway before bottoming out once more. The tears sting once more.

Sylvain feels the erection he gained from the prior treatment begin to deflate, discomfort and a stretch bordering on painful taking the heat away from him. Yet despite the ache, for every thrust, buck of the hips, or slight twitch from Miklan, a gasp, whimper or moan spilled from the boy’s lips in exchange. In time, the ache dulled and pleasure took its place. The stretch no longer as uncomfortable, the weight of his brother’s cock less of a burden, and his mind letting himself simply feel rather than think.

This time around, it couldn’t compare to those three fingers. The pull out is dragging at him; the sink back in almost makes him forget this is his brother. Then it’s bruising and there’s no filter to him now. Miklan holds him steady at the hips, pounding and angling just at that spot and Sylvain can’t breathe. He should be begging for this to stop, but he can’t. He shouldn’t want this to feel so good. Miklan’s harsh words against his ear reminding him with a bite to his tone of the situation, “Feel good, House of Gautier Whore?”

“Noo…” The denial comes out swamped in a mess of gasps and whimpers. He’s jerking himself off before he’s aware, reaching between his thighs and he can’t stop wanting it. He’s met with this rising heat again, his whole body on fire. The build up doesn’t stop and he can’t control it, the feeling foreign and his body unaccustomed and it’s too much and he can’t— an orgasm like this a high he had never been faced with. His hand can’t stop and the tears he’s held back spill as the orgasm rips through him.

A groan drags itself free from Miklan’s throat, those too tight walls clamping down, but he steels himself. He allows Sylvain to ride out his orgasm until he can successfully pull out.

This time around Sylvain does collapse on the bed, unguarded and pliant, Miklan moves him how he pleases. The boy is laid flat on his back, legs hiked over the elder’s shoulders and Miklan is pushing back in. 

Sylvain coming to his senses is akin to being dropped in an ice bath, the heat of lust no longer clouding him and fear instead seizing him entirely. His chest falls and rises quickly in silent panic and he can’t control it when the tears simply spill and don’t cease. It aches through the dull pleasure. He’s scared and Miklan doesn’t care. The haze from before is lifted and the looming figure of Miklan now is nothing short of terrifying. 

Miklan relishes the sounds of his baby brother sobbing in the darkness, wishing he could get the full show and see those features twist in fear and hopelessness. His thrusts are unsteady and he groans at the particular whimper of his name from below, bottoming out and spilling his seed deep inside his brother.

Riding out the waves, a heavy sigh leaves him and as he basks in the afterglow pulls out his softening cock. He reaches back towards the nightstand and blindly deals with the oil lamp. It flares to life and brings enough light for him to take in the sight before him.

Sylvain’s arms cover his face, but tears have left the sheets around his head damp. The boy still silently cried with his shirt wrinkled and pushed up, his own semen covering his stomach. His lower half had long been bare, cock limp and legs still spread around Miklan. Bruises had already begun to form on the boy’s hips and Miklan moved the other to inspect his thighs, pleased to see the same result there.

The laugh that spills out from Miklan’s mouth grates Sylvain’s ears and he’s curling in on himself only for his brother to yank his arms away from his face. Miklan’s in his face and he’s grinning, an unusual look for him to go with the venom he spits—“Don’t be scared. We’re just growing closer as brothers. It’s the least you can do since you stole my throne. Right?”

The Heir of House Gautier can only gape at his brother as he feels his seed trickle out of him.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
